Danse Macabre
by moonyazu9
Summary: Alternate reality, begins during Akt 20. Fakir is overcome with memories and emotions regarding his parents' death. Mytho takes this opportunity to "comfort" him. SLASH. Raven!Mytho/Fakir, implied Raven!Mytho/Rue.
1. Chapter 1

**Danse Macabre **

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any part of Princess Tutu.

**Pairing(s)**: Mytho/Fakir, implied Mytho/Kraehe

**Warning(s):** Some sexual situations, psychological abuse, Raven!Mytho, Fakir's slight potty mouth

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any part of _Princess Tutu_.

**Author's Note:** Okay, so I had a thought. What if Fakir had given in to his despair during episode 20 (the one with Raetsel and the discovery of what happened to Fakir's parents and Fakir's apparent powers)? I thought to myself, that would have been the opportune moment for Mytho to come be a creeper and prey on Fakir's emotions. So here is that idea, come to fruition. This is the first chapter. Constructive criticism is welcome, along with comments.

**Chapter 1 – Reverse Situation**

Fakir threw the door open and launched himself into his bed, curling his legs into his chest. Everything ached now. His chest ached from the run to the dorms. His eyes ached from crying, which he was still doing at this moment. His heart ached at the pain he himself had caused to his parents and Mytho and Ahiru and Rue and Charon and everyone else he had met. His soul ached from not being able to be the Knight he was supposed to be.

_Why do I have this power?_ Fakir asked himself. _Why do I have Drosselmeyer's power? Why did I write that stupid story all those years ago? Why am I still alive? Why, dammit? WHY?_ All of his questions remained unanswered, flying around in his brain like those damned crows flying around the town in those godforsaken days when he was just a child and how they flew now under the command of Kraehe and Mytho.

Footsteps. Then a voice, sounding slightly muffled by the fog of sadness in his brain. "Fakir?"

The older teen clutched at himself, seeking some comfort that he hoped would be provided by his own skin but wasn't there. "Go away," he muttered.

"Fakir, what's wrong? Why are you in such pain?" asked the voice, which Fakir now recognized as that of his Prince, Mytho. He must have settled himself on the bed, judging from the slight dip in the mattress.

"I've done something terrible," Fakir replied. He was _not_ going to cry in front of Mytho, no he wasn't. He wouldn't make himself look even weaker than he already knew Mytho thought he was. He wouldn't make a fool out of the Knight he was supposed to be. But alas, his eyes won that battle, and tears continued to stream from his eyes.

Suddenly, Fakir was being lifted, and then he found himself face to face with Mytho, and he was being cradled in his lap, like a child awakened by a nightmare and seeking comfort in a parent's touch. But the important thing to remember was that he was being cradled in his _Prince's_ lap. This was most unnatural. The Prince was not supposed to provide comfort and support to the Knight, not the other way around. But somehow things had turned on Fakir yet again. "Mytho?" he asked, bewildered.

"Fakir," the Prince replied with a smile that was purely Mytho.

"W-what are you doing? Where's Kraehe?" Fakir inquired, looking around nervously. "What's going on h-"

Mytho put a finger to Fakir's lips, which effectively silenced him. "I'm here to help you, Fakir," he said. "Let me help you."

"What would you do to help me, Mytho? You said it yourself, I'm just a fool, a Knight who can't even find the strength to die. No one can help me. I can't even help myself." Tears threatened to fall again – dammit, what was going on with him today? He was acting like a stupid lovesick schoolgirl! Not even the real schoolgirls cried this much! – but Mytho gently wiped them away with his thumb. He then began stroking Fakir's hair. Fakir tensed at first, and then slowly relaxed, letting the long fingers trail across his scalp. Oh God, Mytho had wonderful fingers, and they were getting all of the right places on his scalp.

"I know you've been hurt before, Fakir," Mytho replied as he continued to rake his fingers through the older teen's hair. "Let me help you feel better."

"Mytho, you've got it backwards," Fakir mumbled, trying not to fall asleep from Mytho's touch and his own emotional weakness. "I'm the Knight, it's my job to help you –"

"And now I'm returning the favor," Mytho replied. He smiled that Mytho smile again, and his eyes just seemed to exude warmth too. It was like staring at a fire in a fireplace, gently pulsing with heat and lulling him to a dreamy state of mind. "Just relax, Fakir. I'll make sure no one ever hurts you again."

"Relax…" Fakir said dazedly. He sighed, and let himself fall prey to the tender touches of his beautiful Prince. He closed his eyes, draped one arm around the Prince's waist and folded the other one into his chest. His breathing evened and deepened until he was asleep, completely relaxed. Unconsciously, he leaned in towards Mytho's torso, completely at peace.

Mytho continued to stroke Fakir's hair with that perfectly soft, gentle smile gracing his features. He wanted nothing more than for Fakir to be happy, to forget the pain of the past, to never change.

And to love only him, and hate everyone else.

* * *

**Please review, give concrit, etc. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 – The Lovers**

After a few hours of letting Fakir sleep in his lap and continually stroking his hair, Mytho gently slid out from under the Knight and tucked him into bed, softly kissing his forehead before leaving. He quietly shut the door to their room and made his way over to the girls' dormitories to tell Kraehe of his recent activities.

When he found Kraehe, she was sitting on her bed, dressed in her usual attire. That black dress looked absolutely delicious on her, caressing and accentuating her every curve while still maintaining her dark beauty. If she weren't so pathetic, Mytho might actually think her quite sexy. But as it was, she was a failure as a raven and as a human as well.

Of course, that was just the Raven in him talking. The true, princely Mytho loved Rue with all his heart and wanted nothing more than for her to be his beloved, happy princess. She was the most beautiful creature on Earth, and no amount of Raven's blood could change his feelings of love and devotion for her. But at present, he was being suppressed by the Raven manifested in his heart and could not express these feelings to Rue, no matter how much he wanted to. Figuring out a way to defeat this damned Raven in him took all of his energy, and he just couldn't defeat it right now. So once again, the dark, sinister, Raven Prince was in control of Mytho's body, much to the True Prince's chagrin.

When he came to her, Kraehe looked at him somewhat warily. "Where have you been?" she asked. "And what happened to that Raetsel girl?"

"I let her go," Mytho replied calmly. "Besides, I think I may have found the perfect sacrifice for your father, better than any of the others before now."

"Really? Who, dare I ask, have you convinced to give up her heart to you this time?"

"Actually, it's _his_ heart," Mytho said. "Fakir will be our sacrifice."

"Fakir?" Kraehe arched one eyebrow skeptically. "Really?'

"Why are you so surprised? After all, he is supposed to be my devoted Knight, willing to protect and help me whenever he can." Mytho absently itched at his wrist and began to strip down to put on his pajamas.

"It's just that he's been fighting you for the last little while. Do you really think you can win him over?"

Kraehe asked.

Mytho chuckled as he buttoned his giant white shirt over his slim frame. "Of course. This is me we're talking about. _I_ can convince people to love me completely, unlike you." Somewhat realizing the hurt his words had caused, he came behind Kraehe in her bed and began nuzzling her neck. "But don't get angry. We're both at fault here, I suppose. But if it wasn't for that damned Princess Tutu, I would have made my sacrifice to the Raven long ago." He smiled. "This time, I'll finish it for sure."

"How will you do it?" Kraehe asked in an almost-moan as Mytho continued nuzzling her, letting his hands run over her body sensuously.

"Well, it turns out that Raetsel let slip a few things about Fakir that he had suppressed, things he didn't want to remember about his parents," Mytho explained. "When he found out, he was left in a rather vulnerable state. I found him _crying_ in his bedroom, and the other me decided to help him feel better, although I don't think I did it the way he would have. Regardless, Fakir's in deep pain now and there's no telling when he'll be up to fighting me again, if ever. If I can just keep Fakir in this broken state for a while, he'll surely be ready to give up his heart to me soon."

"H-How did you know that Raetsel started this?" Kraehe asked as the Prince caressed her shoulders.

"The crows hear things," Mytho stated. His left hand wandered down to Kraehe's hips and nearly touched her pubic region, while the right hand snaked up to grip her right breast. The crow princess gasped and then exhaled deeply. "Oh, dear. Looks like I've gone and touched a little too much. Shall I make you feel good, Kraehe? Shall I touch you further? Would you like that?" He smiled his trademark smile, although it was twisted slightly with the darkness inside him.

"Y-yes, my Prince," she stuttered.

He smiled once again, looking rather like a demented Cheshire cat. "Very well. I'll show you how much I love you, Kraehe, and make you feel wonderful. Because my princess should feel wonderful whenever she is with me, her one true Prince." And he lifted his left hand to stroke the corresponding breast and begin the carnal acts that he would introduce Kraehe to this night. As much as he wanted to claim Fakir's love this very instant, he knew that would have to wait until the Knight was ready. So he had to make due with the love of this pathetic, broken, sad Princess Kraehe, which would satisfy him for a time.

Because even a sad love is better than no love at all.

* * *

Fakir lay tucked in his bed, asleep. His eyebrows were furrowed and his eyes were clenched shut, indicating that his sleep was disturbed by bad dreams.

As it was, Fakir was dreaming of crows. Appropriately, they were the crows that had set upon his parents and the rest of the town, although there was something odd about these crows. Firstly, they were giant – not as huge as the Monster Raven, mind you, but still much larger than their real-life counterparts. He wondered how they had gotten so huge. Then again, almost anything could happen in Kinkan Town (just look at Mr. Cat, after all – what cat teaches _ballet_?)

The other thing that was odd about these crows was their physical makeup. They stood on two long legs, kept their wings at their sides, and wore what appeared to be tutus. If Fakir didn't know any better, he'd say that these crows were almost _human_.

The crows were crowding around something, forming a circle in the center of the town (Fakir was on top of the boys' dormitory). They were dancing quite gleefully, almost maniacally. They circled, wings joined, around someone that was crucified at the center of the circle. Beaks up, they incessantly chanted, "Give us your heart! Give us your heart!"

He couldn't see clearly who or what they were dancing around, so he decided to fly in closer (seeing as this was a dream, Fakir realized that he could do anything he pleased). He immediately wished that he hadn't.

Bound hand and foot to the crucifix was himself. The dream-Fakir looked ill, malnourished, and his clothes were tattered. His eyes were closed, although the real Fakir assumed that if they were open, they would have been clouded with fever.

As if cued, the dream-Fakir opened his eyes, and said to the real Fakir, "Don't let this happen. Save Mytho. Save yourself."

"Give us your heart!" chanted the crows as one of them flew up and cut the ropes binding the dream-Fakir to the crucifix. He fell to the ground in a heap, only to be held in place by the crows. The circle broke, allowing a figure to come through to the center.

Mytho.

Dream-Fakir seemed to relax at the sight of Mytho, who came up to him and kissed him, deeply. "Love only me," Dream-Mytho said, taking a feather from a nearby crow.

"Yes," Dream-Fakir replied. "I love only you."

Dream-Mytho smiled in his usual Mytho way. Then he raised the feather high, and it became a knife. He plunged it into dream-Fakir's chest, pulled out dream-Fakir's heart, and held it high, laughing maniacally as the crows advanced on the heart and on Mytho, clawed feet extended towards the Prince's chest.

Fakir woke up, trembling violently. He could feel the hot tears rolling down his cheeks once again, and hoped that there would be some way to prevent that horrible future.

For himself, and for Mytho.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 – Rehearsal Reversal **

Fakir awoke to the sound of Mytho gasping and angrily muttering. He looked over to the other bed in the room and saw the other boy sitting on top of the mattress, blankets strewn around him. He clutched at his arms in a tense self-hug. Black feathers littered the mattress, at their most concentrated around Mytho.

"No, I won't do it!" Mytho hissed. "That is an awful sacrifice! I refuse!" His voice changed slightly, becoming lower and silkier. "You have no choice. You know what will happen if you refuse." Another change. "I can't do that!"

Alarmed, Fakir crept over to Mytho's bed and sat beside him. Putting a hand on his shoulder, Fakir asked, "Mytho? What's going on?"

In a whirl of motion, Mytho pinned him to the mattress, an angry look on his face. Then he blinked and realized what he had done. "Oh, Fakir! I'm sorry. I didn't realize it was you." He quickly removed his hands and helped Fakir sit up. "My mind was somewhere else. Sorry."

"It's fine," Fakir replied. "Um…what was that? It sounded kind of like you were arguing with yourself."

"Oh, that? It was nothing," Mytho said with a small smile. He looked over Fakir's torso. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"Of course not," Fakir said, lips curving slightly into a smile. "You're Mytho, you would never hurt me." He turned and stretched to release the last vestiges of sleep.

Mytho chuckled softly. "That's right. I wouldn't hurt you, because you're precious to me, Fakir." He loosely hugged the Knight and reached up to card his fingers through Fakir's hair.

Fakir uttered a pleased grunt and sagged against Mytho's chest. "That feels nice."

"Your hair is the best," Mytho replied. "It's so thick, but so soft at the same time. I wish mine was half as thick as yours." He guided one of Fakir's hands up to his head and let him feel his hair. Mytho was right – despite the way it always settled perfectly on Mytho's head, it was very thin. The Prince returned to carding his way through Fakir's hair, eliciting pleased hums from his target.

"Well," Fakir said after a few minutes, "as much as I would love to stay in bed all day, it is day time and we should get moving. Mr. Cat will have our hides if we don't practice."

"Why should we bother? We're already the best in the class," Mytho scoffed.

"Even the greatest performers can still find room to practice, even if it's just the basics," Fakir quipped. "Come on, let's go." He swung his legs over the mattress and went off to get clean and dressed, Mytho trailing behind. Once they were clothed in their uniforms, they set off for the ballet school.

While they were changing into their dance clothes, Fakir noticed Mytho scratching at his wrists and arms quite frequently, even reaching around to his shoulder blades. "Did some bedbugs bite you?" he asked half-jokingly, coming up behind Mytho and proceeding to scratch the Prince's back himself.

"No," Mytho replied, "I've just been really itchy and sore lately. I'm not sure why."

Fakir nodded. "I'll give you a massage or something when we get back from class. Does that sound good?"

Mytho spun around to face him, then smiled and said, "You always know just how to take care of me, Fakir." He loosely wrapped his arms around the Knight in a hug.

Fakir was a little surprised by this action; Mytho didn't really show affection to him that often. The last time the Prince hugged him was when he had returned from his suspension and Fakir had felt a distinct sense of dread at the words the Prince had muttered in his ear. He tentatively hugged Mytho back, hoping that these little bursts of affection would help restore Mytho to his true self. "Come on, let's get in the studio," Fakir said, and led Mytho into the room.

Since they were the only boys at their level of study, Mr. Cat had them practice three times a week with just the two of them. After all, men's ballet does have differences in movement from women's ballet. Now that they had mastered the basics, though, the majority of their lessons consisted of solo and _pas de deux_ rehearsals. Usually half of the rehearsal period was for solo and half for _pas de deux_. In regards to the latter, sometimes they used a large cloth doll as their practice partner, and sometimes they used each other. When performance times approached, the girls from the advanced class would come in and partner with them.

Currently, they were working on the annual holiday production of _The Nutcracker_. Mytho would be dancing the part of the Nutcracker Prince, with Rue as the Sugar Plum Fairy and Snow Queen. Fakir was taking his usual role of the Mouse King, as well as any of the candy dances he wanted in the second act. This year, he chose the Arabian or Coffee dance. For that one, he would need one of the girls from the advanced class, but that could be rehearsed at a later time. For now, it was just Mytho and he, doing their famous dance battle scene. They both knew it backwards and forwards, but Mr. Cat expected perfection, and practice makes perfect.

After they finished stretching and warm-ups, Fakir went to the prop closet and got their swords and the Nutcracker Prince's stick horse, reserved especially for this scene. He tossed one sword and the horse to Mytho, who caught them easily. They both flicked the blades around, getting used to the feel of having the extra weight in their hands.

"You know what?" Mytho said. "Let's switch."

"What?" replied Fakir, raising an eyebrow.

"Let's switch parts. Just for today," Mytho said. "I'm a little tired of always being the hero of the story, and I'm sure you could use a break from being the villain. What say we try each other's parts on for size?"

"Mr. Cat won't allow it," Fakir said.

"Oh, come on, Fakir," Mytho scoffed. "Don't be such a stick in the mud. What's a little variety among friends? Besides, Mr. Cat's not going to come watch. You know he works with the beginners' class right now."

"I don't know about this," Fakir replied. "I've never danced this part before."

"Yes, but you've seen me do it hundreds of times. I've watched you enough times to get your part right. And if we mess up, no one's here to see it. So, please?" Mytho pleaded. "Just this once?"

"All right," Fakir sighed, "but just this once." He came and got the horse and the prince's sword from Mytho, and handed him the Mouse King's sword. The only difference between the two was that the pommels were different colors – the Prince's was white, and the Mouse King's was black with a large red jewel in the center of it.

Once again, they flicked their swords around for a few moments. Fakir tried to maneuver around the room, holding the sword in one hand and the horse between his legs with the other. He stumbled a little, which drew Mytho's attention.

"Don't go about it with such flat feet," he said as he came over to Fakir. "When you're using the horse, gallop on the balls of your feet. Makes it easier to do. And relax your grip." He pried Fakir's right hand from the horse's neck, and reformed the fingers into a more relaxed hold. "Try that now."

Fakir took a few steps on the balls of his feet, and found that it was easier to get around this way. "Good trick," he commented. Mytho smiled in response.

"All right, let's give it a try," Mytho said, after letting Fakir try out the horse for another minute or two. "Let's pick it up from the Mouse King's entrance." He nodded to the penguin pianist, who began to play.

Fakir and Mytho took opposite corners of the room and began circling widely around the room, staring each other down. Mytho mimed getting shot by the toy soldiers' cannon, as dictated by the music, and Fakir smirked. The prince really had seen it enough times to pull off a convincing Mouse King. He mimed anger, and pointed his sword at Fakir, who took that as the cue to begin their "battle."

Thrust, leap, lunge, stab – no matter which role he took, this battle scene was second nature to Fakir, he discovered. But he had to admit, it was nice to change things up and try a different role. And the Mouse King role fit Mytho like a glove. He was all bravado and rage, flitting around the stage like the devilish mouse he was supposed to be.

Fakir picked up the horse from where it sat against the wall, and began chasing Mytho while riding it. The other boy smirked mockingly at him and casually "cut" the horse in two when it came time, causing Fakir to mime-stumble and then really go after the king. This was when they would really have to use combat.

Their swords clanged and clashed as they tried to land hits on each other, circling tightly around the floor. Of course, the swords were blunted, so it wouldn't actually hurt if they hit each other. Still, Fakir was always a little leery that he would hurt Mytho. He wouldn't want to harm his prince.

Mytho mimed getting hit in the head with Clara's shoe, looking over his shoulder. Fakir "stabbed" him, and Mytho mimed roaring in pain. He slipped his sword into Fakir, and they collapsed on the floor as the music ceased.

Mytho chuckled and rolled toward Fakir on his side. "See? Wasn't that fun? I have to say, I quite like being the Mouse King. I might petition Mr. Cat to let me do it for one performance."

Fakir sat up and stretched his arms toward the ceiling. "Maybe. I don't know how Rue would feel about dancing with me over you, though."

Mytho sniggered. "Who cares? You deserve to have a lead." The two boys picked up their gear and went to return it to the prop closet. On the way, Mytho opened a window to let some air in the room.

Unbeknownst to the two boys, a crow perched in the window, guided there by a jealous third party.


End file.
